


Summer Daze

by coffeestainsfoggeduppanes



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Actually no tennis, Attempt at Humor, Diego is a pushover, Domestic Fluff, Domi wants to be spoilt, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Sappy, Sascha is nosy af, Sharing a Bed, The lack of Domiego fics actually hurts, They are the cutest okay, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and we love him for that, can we please have more Domiego
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23628565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeestainsfoggeduppanes/pseuds/coffeestainsfoggeduppanes
Summary: Dominic and Diego try to enjoy a lazy summer day in. Emphasis on TRY.
Relationships: Diego Schwartzman/Dominic Thiem
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Summer Daze

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after searching the Domi/Diego tag on here and only getting 4 results. T_T  
> These two clearly need more love!

It’s the kind of heat that begs you to stay in all day.

At least, that’s what Dominic thinks. Diego was disagreeing with him.

“We have practice,” He was saying, over and over, as if that was going to convince the Austrian to get off of him.

Domi could barely mumble out a “So?” through his tiredness.

Diego laughed, breathy and light, “ _So_... we need to go.”

“I don’t want to.” There was a rare petulance in Dominic’s voice reserved only for weather like this, and for Diego, who has already seen the worst of him, so what was one day of being spoilt? Thiem glanced at the calendar. Okay, _multiple_ days of being spoilt.

“ _Vamonos_ , Domi.” Says Diego, ever the voice of reason. Much to Thiem’s dismay, he had managed to wriggle out from under Dominic’s sprawled out body.

“Diego...” Thiem whines, reluctantly dragging himself up on the bed so he can grab the Argentinian before he leaves to the kitchen.

Dominic wraps his arms around Diego, who pretends not to notice. “Juice?” He holds up a cup which Dominic doesn’t even bother acknowledging.

“Come back to bed,” Domi whines again, stretching out each syllable and pushing his weight onto Diego’s back with every word in the hopes that it would convince him to stay.

No dice.

Diego spins out of his hold and decisively starts packing his gear. “Domi, is practice, you know? We have tournament soon.”

True. But, then again, didn’t they always? Dominic looked at the clock. They were already half an hour late anyway. He refuses to budge.

“Diego.” Dominic stands this time, pulling out all the stops. Diego sorts of frowns, but he is more amused than anything else as the taller man collapses onto his shoulder, resting his head into the crook of Diego’s neck as if they just ended a match. He doesn’t usually hug this tight after a game, though (well, unless you counted Vienna, but that was to be expected). “Please?”

Something tells Thiem he’s won this one.

He’s right.

Diego returns the hug, patting Dominic’s head and sighing, very exaggeratedly, before pulling out his phone to call his coach.

~

Thiem smiles smugly, back and cosied up in bed as Diego tries to excuse himself out of practice for the third time that month. It’s not easy but neither is refusing Dominic, who holds his arms out wide once Diego manages to hang up on his very angry coaches.

“You too much, you know?” Diego mutters, accepting the invitation anyway.

Domi just grins, much too content to talk. He thinks he could stay like that for hours.

He does.

It’s late afternoon before either of them stir again, the sunlight streaming through the window just adding to the suffocating heat. Diego has all but pushed him away, the blankets strewn all across the floor and the two of them holding onto each other by the tips of their fingers.

Now it’s too hot.

“Diego...” Dominic calls out, voice thick with sleep.

Even the Argentinian could barely open his eyes, “Hm?”

“It’s too hot,” Thiem complains, but still insists on sticking to Diego anyway, shimmying under his arm.

Diego obliges. “Si,” he manages to mumble out, eyes still not opening and now both arms around the Austrian. “Very hot.”

They don’t do anything about it though.

~

They are just about to drift off into fitfully warm sleep when a phone rings, jolting the two of them awake. Dominic hits the back of his head on the headboard, prompting Diego to irritably answer the call with a bark. “What!”

Although more energetic than Thiem, he never did like interruptions to his beauty sleep. Dominic fails to hide a laugh, snickering into the pillow as Diego grumbles something in Spanish.

“Um, Diego?” A crackling and then a concerned voice tinged with German. Zverev. “Uh, where’s Dominic?”

Diego inhales slowly, holding the phone out so he could see it properly (or at least as properly as he could through bleary eyes). This was, decidedly, not his phone.

Even Dominic shot up, “Shit.” Waving hands in the air in panic was not going to alleviate the situation but that didn’t stop Thiem from trying. “Do something!” He hissed at the Argentinian, who was getting redder by the second.

“Uh, he, uh. Hello Sascha.” Diego finally sputtered out. He waved his hands right back at Dominic’s incredulity: _I don’t know what to say!_

A pause dripping with confusion. “Uh, hi. _Diego_.” Zverev cleared his throat, “Where’s _Dominic_?”

“He, uh, he.” Diego pleaded to Thiem for help, who was miming something like jumping out the window. Not a bad idea right now, honestly. “He’s at practice.”

Dominic gave him a thumbs up. Believable, right? He’s _always_ at practice.

Sascha made a sceptical sound, “Um, I’m at the open courts with Nic right now—so no, no he’s not.”

Diego turned to Dominic, but it was too late, the Austrian had already conceded defeat and was hiding underneath the covers. Diego was going to be alone on this one.

“Si, I forget. Busy, you know?” Sascha hummed. He didn’t sound convinced. “Don’t know where he go.” Diego shrugged with much gusto, although its not like Zverev could see him.

“Okay...” The German relented, but he didn’t break into the Top Three on his good looks alone. “Why do you have his phone?”

“Er,” Diego once again implored Dominic, but he was paling with every word and he just couldn’t do that to him. God, of course it’s the one who couldn’t speak English to pick up the call. “He leave it, no?”

“What?” That doesn’t sound like Thiem. “Where?”

“His locker.” Diego just closed his eyes. Honestly, it was a losing battle at this point.

“How did you get it then?” Sascha’s nosiness was always a little annoying.

Diego rubbed his temples. “He forget to lock.”

“Oh,” Zverev sounded sort of persuaded. After all, the locker Thiem was stuck with wouldn’t close all the way unless with a decided push so it made some semblance of sense.

All tension left Diego’s shoulders. He might just win this one yet.

Dominic was on his toes.

“So, you’re in the locker room now? Do you want to practice?”

Ah, tough luck.

“No, I am in my room.” Diego said before slapping himself on the forehead. Dominic nodded in agreement—that _was_ very stupid of him.

“Why did you take Dominic’s phone to your _room_?” Sascha really was too curious for his own good. _Finish this_. Thiem’s eyes seemed to plead, the same desperation in his face as when he watches Diego on court.

“Sorry Sascha, I, uh,” Diego waved his free hand around frantically as if the answers could be pulled out of thin air, “need to go.” The phone went flying across the room, landing neatly on the armchair.

The two of them stare at the phone, where Sascha was now shouting since the call hasn’t hung up yet. They could hear Zverev grumbling something in German—Dominic could make out a few expletives—before the dial tone beeped.

The two of them stared at each other with wide eyes.

Welp.

Dominic is the first one to break the silence with a punctuation of laughter. Diego, being the rational one here, was not quite as amused.

“Not funny, Domi!” He was insisting, as the Austrian was trying to hug him, doubling over with fits of giggles.

“ _You_ answered my phone!” Dominic protested. Diego huffed, but could not resist melting into Dominic’s hand which was now cradling the back of his neck. “Come on, it was a _little_ funny, ah?”

A twinge of a smile played at the corner of Diego’s lips, but he wasn’t about to let go of this one so easily. “You need explain. To Sascha, you know?”

Dominic groaned, “Tomorrow.”

“No, no,” Diego put up a forefinger in protest, “Do now.”

The Austrian smirked, much too playful and high off the adrenaline of almost getting caught, “You want to _do_ it now?”

“No, no, no, no,” Diego was trying to say, but then Dominic was kissing his forehead and cheeks and face, and he started to forget what was happening at all.

Thiem had just about gotten Diego to return the love when the phone rang again. This time it was Dominic to get upset at the interruption. Fair enough.

“What?” He groaned, Diego having to duck his head away from the building volume, “I swear to you, I’ll practice tonight!”

A pause. Diego bit his lip and motioned to the fact that Dominic’s phone was literally just thrown across the room not five minutes ago. This was, _obviously_ , not his phone.

“Uh, Dominic?” It was Sascha. Because of course it was Sascha. “Why do you have Diego’s phone?”

“Ah, shit.”

~

Epilogue 

One new message from Stefanos.

Stef: _Tell Diego I said ‘hi’ and that I hope he enjoys his new room. ;)_

Dominic: _Fuck off._

**Author's Note:**

> The most unrealistic thing in here is that Dominic skipped training and that is all I have to say.


End file.
